


Overextension

by FriedCatfish



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, chapters take place in different timelines rather than being sequential, it's platonic bc I'm not The Worst, spoilers for like every route
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:46:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6849421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriedCatfish/pseuds/FriedCatfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strength and weakness are not mutually exclusive, and neither one always looks the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> So I recently started thinking about what having a significant natural supply of DT would actually mean for undyne and... I have a lot of Feelings on the matter

"...and the new puzzles for the castle itself are proceeding **ahead** of schedule, thanks to my expert guidance!"

Undyne nodded, tapping the arm of the throne to an uneven, unsounded beat. She sometimes wondered if she was growing to fit it — she looked in the mirror, sometimes, and was _certain_ she was taller, broader than before, as if she was so desperate to be a suitable replacement for Asgore that it was causing her to mimic him (and, as far as she knew from barely-remembered schoolbooks and long conversations with Alphys, this was well within the realm of possibility when it came to monster biology). But even if this was the case, there was always the lingering knowledge that she could never **really** be big enough for anything in the building.

Papyrus glanced left and right; he was finished speaking, but unsure if that was all there was to it. As for his expression — well, he'd never been great at hiding his feelings.

"M.I.R.P. Papyrus." The title failed to perk him up even a little; if there was any doubt that something was wrong, it had been banished. "Something the matter?"

"Well, I'm just... sort of kind of... concerned with the construction of the puzzles, Your Highness. They seem to have more, uh, spears and lasers and boulders and those big metal squashy things than were in my designs."

"C'mon, Papyrus, we've been over this. Your job is —"

Papyrus joined in, and they finished in unison: "Stand around, look cute, submit puzzles, and let you know about any news. But..." He fiddled with his scarf, gaze fixed on the floor. "I'm worried about what will happen, if another human —"

Undyne raised her hand, and he fell silent. "I told you. It'll be fine. We'll just... have a nice _chat_ if that happens, alright? Don't worry about it.

" It's just that these puzzles seem kind of... lethal."

"That's traditional. Besides, don't worry. They look worse than they are." Not **technically** false; her instructions did rank "intimidation potential" very highly, as she felt that a terrified human would be easier to catch off guard. Still, she knew what he meant, and she knew that it was still a lie in spirit, but telling him the truth could only cause pain or trouble. Nobody could afford that at a time like this. "Is there anything else?"

" I suppose not!"

"Alright, then, get outta here and do what you do best! And if you see your brother, tell him I need to speak with him." Papyrus saluted, and held his arm in place as he left the room — backwards, of course, to make sure that the sustained gesture was as visible and sensible as possible. Once he was out of sight, Undyne sighed heavily and let her royal demeanor drop, sinking into a slouch. Sometimes she really regretted this whole thing, but... it had to be done, right? **Someone** had to be the beacon of hope around here.

She just wished she could know that she was succeeding.

Without warning, something tapped against her armor. "Knock knock."

Undyne leapt up from the throne, clutching the royal trident with an iron grip, heart pounding — for just a moment, before remembering who that voice belonged to. " **SANS.** Is that **REALLY** necessary?"

" nah. it's fun, though." Sans ambled out from behind the throne, hands in his pockets, facial expression as unchanging as ever; sometimes nothing in the world frustrated her more than that damn grin, but by now, it had become clear that she ought to put up with it. For all the garbage he pulled, his services seemed to be worth it... as long as she could keep herself from screaming her throat raw, anyway. "Robes not good enough for ya, Duchess?"

She took a deep breath, tried to compose herself. "I need to be prepared for an attack at any time." She let her grip loosen a bit, brought her legs together — no need for a battle stance — but kept her head held high, back straight. "Is there any news to report, then?"

"well, if you mean 'have any humans fallen down yet,' no." He glanced to the side, an obvious affectation — since ascending to the throne, Undyne had noticed that he actually did that sort of thing a  **lot** , carefully choosing his every expression and gesture like he was an actor constantly waiting for an intermission or a commercial that wouldn't come. "i did hear a rumor, though."

Undyne shook her head and turned away, only to see him again. _How the hell does he do that?_ Regardless, it was apparent that he wanted to speak to her; she decided, if nothing else, she could get his nonsense out of the way. "Does it actually concern me?"

" you could say that."

He left it there, and after a longer pause than she really ought to have left, Undyne groaned. "You wanna tell me what it **is,** or not, twerp?"

" well, don't tell anyone, but i heard that somebody might be falling apart under the pressure."

Undyne's grip tightened on the trident (still in that uncomfortable limbo between  _His_ trident and  _her_ trident, just like everything else seemed to be, these days). She held herself back from baring her teeth — she knew it wasn't going to impress him — but she sure as hell **clenched** them. "Do you want. To clarify that."

" sorry, highness. what i meant was, uh..." He closed his eyes, scratched the back of his skull. "you're working yourself so hard that I have every reason to believe you're on the verge of literally melting. Which would be kind of a problem, I think."

"...Uh-huh. Your concern is noted. Now beat it."

"Undyne, I'm serious. You need to take it easy."

"No, I **don't.** I'm doing **fine,** and besides, I can't afford to — WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" In an instant, Sans had... well, she never saw him _jump_ as such, but he'd gotten onto her arm _somehow_ , and now he was wrestling with her armor in an attempt to rip off a gauntlet. Undyne tossed the trident aside and tried to shove him off with her free arm, to no avail — his grip wasn't faltering, and neither bullets nor punches seemed like a reasonable option. (She had learned, about three days into the whole "Queen" business, that monsters weren't **especially** fond of a ruler who threatened to kick her subject's asses; actually **doing** so probably wouldn't work out any better.) Eventually, there was nothing left to do about it; he finished unbuckling the gauntlet, engulfed it in a bright blue magical field, and slid it off with no trouble (aside from a slightly botched landing when he suddenly found himself without a handhold).

"Jeez, alright, have it, you freak. I still don't get why you're so... insistent about this," she said, her voice faltering _just_ enough that a skilled listener might suspect that, in fact, she knew exactly why.

" I _told_ you why, and you know I'm right." Sans ran his finger along the inside of the gauntlet; when he brought it out, slime, thick and viscous, had coated it. He said nothing; simply let it drip on the floor, pathetic "plaps" echoing through the castle hall.

Undyne turned away. "So what? Plenty of folks —"

"none with your physiology. shyren doesn't drip, undyne. aaron doesn't —"

"What're you talking about, that jerk drips all the time!"

"Sweat isn't slime and you know it." Sans raised a hand to his face, then — lacking a nose and thus unable to emphasize his frustration by pinching the bridge of it — unceremoniously let it drop back down. "i'm just tryin' to look out for you, here. you're pushing yourself way too hard. it's not like you can do anything about this until a human falls in, anyway."

Undyne grunted. "Not all of us can afford to just sit around all day. Some of us have to set a good example."

"If you keep this up... you are actually going to **kill yourself.** That is not a 'good example.'"

"Bullshit." She didn't want to ask the question that came to mind — she couldn't quite say why or how, but she knew that the answer wouldn't satisfy her at all.

And yet, it had to be asked.

"How would you even know?"

"...I read a lot."

"Yeah, I'll bet. C'mon, give me a real answer."

"Does it really matter?"

**"Listen up."** Undyne crouched down, leaned in, and, against her better judgement, grinned right back at him — might not intimidate him, no, but it made _her_ feel good. "Your **Queen** is **kindly asking you** to explain yourself so she is not **forced** to issue an edict forbidding you from Grillby's. Got it, punk?"

Sans shrugged, seemingly unperturbed, which she found absolutely _infuriating_ — no matter what, she'd never found anything she could say or do to rattle his bones. Still, he did answer: " jeez, alright. truth is... I'm actually a multidisciplinary —" The first syllable of "scientist" wasn't even out of his mouth before Undyne downgraded her death glare to a what-kind-of-dumbass-do-you-take-me-for glare. "what?"

"How come Alphys never mentioned this? Seems like she would've known. And besides, what kind of _science_ would someone like **you** specialize in? Advanced Nap Dynamics? Sandwich Engineering?"

" quantum mechanics, magical theory, and biology, mostly. engineering's not really my strong suit, but I dabble." The contrast couldn't be starker — Sans's grin was wider than it had been in weeks if not months, while Undyne's face was blank save for the heavy eyelids of unmitigated disdain. "hey, you're the one who asked."

"And I **assumed** you'd take it **seriously** for **ONCE** in your miserable life!" She waved him off. "Forget it. Just do your job, or whatever passes for it, and let me do mine."

" Fine. You're really, really, _really_ ultra-triple-sure you want to know how I know this?"

"YES!"

Sans held up his hand, palm facing her. "Then shoot me, right there."

"...Are you serious?"

"As a dog." He waited for any indication that she got the joke; no such luck. _eh, I guess that one was kind of obtuse._ " yes. don't worry, I think I can manage one hit. just go for it."

She raised the trident just a bit, but hesitated. "Your brother said —"

"papyrus says a lot of stuff. i'll be fine."

Undyne took a deep breath and stepped forward, raising the trident into the air, prongs pointed squarely at Sans's carpals. "You **definitely promise** you can handle this."

" cross my bones and hope to... live."

The room almost seemed to darken, for a moment, as three brightly-glowing spectral bolts began to form around the tips of the trident. Undyne carefully angled the shot, so that only one would hit the target — then released, and all three shot off into the wall behind Sans, leaving cracks in the stone and a sizeable hole in his hand.

"Oh my GOD you said you'd be okay I'm gonna freaking KILL YOU for — uh." To say that Undyne watched in **amazement** would be inaccurate — it would suggest that she hadn't seen it a thousand times before, seen the slime falling into place from the cracks, gradually becoming cohesive, though not _hardening_ (that wouldn't come for hours, at least, and maybe days, for a wound that bad), forming a semisolid scab that almost rippled if you moved it right, that gave the impression of bleeding or sweating without anything actually flowing.

This was, however, the first time she'd seen it happen to _any monster but herself_ ; the first time anything had come out of one of _their_ wounds but a slow trickle of dust. It took her a moment to figure out how to respond, but — as always — she figured the precedent Asgore had set was a pretty reasonable one to follow.

"...We're gonna have a chat over some tea."

* * *

For whatever reason, Sans didn't want to talk in New Home's living room (the only explanation he offered was that it "seemed inappropriate for people like him," and when Undyne pointed out that that stupid joke didn't even make **sense** because one (1) he wasn't **actually** undead and two (2) he _literally had a sizable living room at home back in Snowdin and practically never left the sofa in fact_ , he just sorta shrugged and left the room). Instead, they ended up wandering off to some mostly-ignored corner of the castle, one of the few that hadn't recently been absorbed by the ever-growing training grounds, barracks, or engineering workshop. (Come to think of it, Undyne _also_ wasn't clear on why they couldn't have just built an extension for the lab back in Hotland, but Alphys had been insistent and she couldn't bear to argue with someone that adorable.)

Sans took a pause to cram half a croissant in his mouth, then straightened his spine and spoke. "Alright. You want the accurate but super-long explanation with a bunch of 'we **think** that' and 'it could be this or that or this other thing,' or the bullshit but short and simple one?"

"Coming from you, isn't _any_ explanation short and simple?" It got a bit of a chuckle, but little else. Even the guy's sense of humor seemed to be an enigma, other than the well-established rule that _Papyrus's jokes are the best jokes._ "But, uh, nah, short one's fine."

" right, so. the strength of a SOUL is related to something called 'determination,' or DT. we think it's what allows monsters' physical forms to coalesce in the first place. humans have more of it than we do, which is probably related to why their SOULs stick around after death. we both die if we run out of it, but for monsters, having too much of it is **also** bad, as a general rule. makes us, uh, melty."

"And... you and I, uh, **both** have too much of it."

" basically."

Undyne sighed and leaned forward, pressing her hand against the table. "No offense, Sans, but you're, uh... I feel like maybe you're not _quite_ as strong as I am."

" 'Course not. I don't work at it, even a little. Flip side of that, though, is that I'm... not really **sturdier,** but I'm more ready in case I get hurt, or something goes wrong." He took a sip of his tea, seemingly going out of his way to slurp it as loudly as possible. " You, uh... I feel like you really _use_ your determination a lot. Fight through stuff that makes people like me give up, and while that's inspiring and super great, it might be making you generate even _more_ DT, which is, uh, terrible for you, which makes you more dependent on it. And even if that weren't the case, you'd still be running yourself ragged."

"Like I said, I'm a bit melty. No big deal. It hasn't caused any serious issues before."

Sans took a deep breath in, following it up with a theatrical sigh. "How often you feel under the weather, Undyne? And I don't just mean really **badly** sick, I mean, y'know... colds. Nausea. Headaches, Dizziness. All that sorta stuff."

She stopped herself from speaking too quickly, and thought about it for a moment. _I'm... not sick **that** often, am I? At least, not in a way that's... abnormal. And, uh, I'm **pretty** sure that exercise is... supposed to be a challenge, right?.._ The more she thought about it, the more unsure she became. Had she seriously written all this off as normal without actually questioning it? Or had she just been trying to **convince** herself she was fine, that it was all in her head, that she couldn't be doing the wrong thing because the only alternative would be **staying weak,** would be failing to live up to her destiny?

"...Alright. Maybe you're right. What am I supposed to do about it?"

"I mean, I'm not your doctor or anything, but like I said. Take it easy, alright?"

"I can't —"

"I'm not saying give up. I'm not saying quit. I'm just saying..." He paused to rip off a chunk of a donut, then lower it first into ketchup, then into his tea, and finally into his mouth. "Listen to your body, y'know? When you feel like you can't do twenty more push-ups, maybe don't. If the thought of even leaving the castle seems like too much, stay inside." He winked, and somehow, **somehow,** his smile seemed to get even wider. " Last guy who had your job did it plenty."

Undyne frowned, scooping up a fistful of crackers — not to eat them, not immediately, but just to feel them in her hand, to move them around, take in their texture and their weight. Maybe, just a little bit, to remind herself she was still solid.

"I'll keep it in mind."

* * *

She started paying a bit more attention, after that.

She didn't want to risk falling out of her groove, mind — she knew, by now, that it was easy to lose momentum if she didn't train regularly. But when she ached out of nowhere, or felt her scales flowing into each other, sticking to her clothes... well, she could miss **one** session so long as she worked extra-hard on the next one.

She put aside more time for Alphys, not just check-ups and planning sessions but time to just _hang out,_ like the old days. Time for herself, too, to just... think, or go back to Waterfall for a swim, or wander around in the garden. It was starting to get a little out of hand... Asgore never had gotten around to showing her how to properly raise flowers. She hadn't had the patience for it, then.

_Maybe I should give it another try._

And, as time passed, she shed her armor. She wasn't going to let any humans pass through alive — no one was. She still made sure the troops and scouts were stationed; still made sure everyone was well aware of what their quarry **looked** like, so nobody aided and abetted them without even realizing it, or got too close without being ready for a proper battle. But she didn't need to be perpetually on-guard, she realized; there were only two entrances, as far as anyone knew, and there were plenty of sentries on both ends. If someone showed up... she'd have a chance to put on the armor. Deal with it **then.**

Until that point, well, she had to admit... the robes were a bit big on her, but they were a hell of a lot more comfortable.


	2. Not Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a lot on my plate for the past few months. But I've been working on this update, every now and then.
> 
> Now that it's been over a year since the game came out, and with the outpouring of fanart and analysis and whatnot... it's especially important to me to continue this.

Sans had kind of been hoping that, in between him heading out to Grillby's and heading back in to catch up on his sleep, she would have gotten off the couch. Or at least sat up, so he could take over the other half of it. Instead, he just stared down from the second floor, trying to think of either solutions (which he knew very well did not exist) or reasons not to get involved (which became increasingly difficult when someone was your houseguest and, nominally, your employee). He considered just... not acknowledging her presence unless she made the first move. Pretending she were back at her house, or just generally Elsewhere.

But ultimately that concept tugged too much at his conscience, and once he'd finished his second burger he had little else to do but go talk to her. He took the stairs about as slowly as he could, trying to put it off as long as possible without actually stopping, but, unfortunately, it wasn't that far too the ground floor. He loomed over Undyne as he approached the couch, which felt... deeply wrong in a way few things did. Less than a year ago, she somehow managed to loom over **Asgore** on a regular basis, in spite of him having at least a foot on her on every axis. She seemed deflated now, almost in a literal sense, like the air was slowly being squeezed out of her and eventually she'd just empty out, and then —

He caught himself getting **invested** , and took a deep breath. He was pretty certain that this was temporary — _wouldn't **make sense** for the anomaly to leave it there, to kill two guys and move along, to do things by half-measure, it **can't** leave things there_ — but there was always that lingering doubt that this was what he would be stuck with, now and forever.

But if that was the case, it couldn't be helped, and either way, right now he had a houseguest to take care of. "Hey. You doing okay, there?"

She didn't respond to him with anything more than a groan; not when he jabbed her in the stomach, not when he yanked the comforter off of her, and not when he finally shrugged and sat down right on top of her legs.

Then he turned the TV on, and before you could blink, Undyne had snatched the remote from his hand, pressed the power button again, and snapped it clean in two. She stared at him, eyes **almost** angry but mostly distant. _We've talked about this,_ she thought.

He understood what the look meant, but didn't acknowledge it. " Okay, good. Kind of worried I was gonna have to get the smell of dead fish out of the couch."

Undyne spoke in a voice that wasn't _hoarse,_ exactly — it had been a solid two months since she yelled at anything, so her voice was actually stronger than it had been in years — but it was deeply, deeply weary, carrying the sort of tone generally associated with someone who just got their fiftieth rejection letter, or an action hero entering the second act of the third film. "What do you want, jackass."

" I want the people I care about to be alive and happy, and right now I'm about one and three-quarters for four."

"Cute. How about you go bother your **girlfriend,** then. She could probably use a distraction from being a widow, assuming she **noticed.** " To say that the words were "bitter" or "venomous" would be an understatement; even if she'd lost just about everything else, and even if she didn't want to **do** anything about it, Undyne still had spite on her side.

" That's —" not worth arguing with, he decided. If the Toriel issue was ever going to be settled, it wasn't going to be until Undyne was a bit less miserable. "Look, uh, I don't wanna tell you how to live your life or anything, but... when's the last time you bathed?"

Undyne scoffed. "When's the last time **you** bathed, Literal Slimeball?"

" Okay, not an entirely unfair point, but it's worth considering that 1) I have no skin, 2) I'm not an actual fish."

"Whatever." She rolled over, mashing her face into the couch cushion in a futile effort to drown out any more sights or sounds he might expose her to. "I'll do it when I feel less like garbage."

"You and I both know that's not happening _until_ you shower. Probably not even then." Again — no response. She was certainly talking _more_ than she had been at the start of things, but... that wasn't saying a whole lot, especially considering how vocal she normally was. " Alright, I'll bring you there myself, then. I've been meaning to try fly-fishing."

"That one doesn't even —" she stopped dead as she shot up into the air, and didn't bother picking the sentence back up because, well, now it **did** make sense, so. "God, alright, I'll take care of it! Put me down, you little freak."

"If you say so."

Undyne hit the cushions, and again, she didn't say much about it — _nobody to blame for that one but myself,_ she figured. Admittedly, while it didn't make her feel "better" as such, Sans's commitment to nonstop goofs sort of made it hard to wallow. But... that didn't explain where the commitment was **coming** from, why he was so insistent on sticking around a sadsack like her instead of a more receptive audience. It didn't explain...

Well, _nothing_ was _going_ to, unless she asked. Undyne hoisted herself up to a sitting position, which was already more than she'd planned to do that day. Her vision blurred and her head went fuzzy for just a second; then everything came back into focus, and she turned to face him. "Why do you even care? Why the shitty pep talks, why the job, why any of this?"

It took a moment for him to say anything. Not because he hadn't seen it coming, of course; after all, if there was one skill Sans could lay claim to — well, actually, that would be "getting around quickly," followed by "terrible wordplay," followed by "sense of timing," followed by a long list of scientific disciplines (split neatly down the middle by "slapstick"), followed by "actually _good_ wordplay," and, if he did say so himself, followed in turn by "baking."

The point is, though it may not have been his _greatest skill of all,_ he took pride in his ability to read people and predict what they would say and do next. Some of him would have said they had the easiest time with the kid, but **this** him had been just as blindsided by their sudden act of roboticide as anyone else in the Underground ( _my fault for getting my hopes up, really,_ he'd told himself a thousand times, just the same as Undyne) — no, this **particular** Sans felt that he was able to predict just about anyone **but** the kid. And Undyne was no exception; frankly, he was surprised that she hadn't asked the question weeks ago.

And yet, despite rehearsing the answer a dozen times in the last few hours alone... he was at a loss for words. Responses, all unsatisfactory, flashed through his mind: __

_
  * I care about everybody. The guys **without** bodies too.
  * Hey, you spent years paying me to do nothing, it's only fair I do the same.
  * To be honest, I only care because Papyrus does.
  * Look, if the heroine who never gives up ends up giving up so hard she **literally dies** , where's that leave the rest of us losers?
_
If he were a little bit wiser, or a little bit less emotionally exhausted, maybe one of them **would** have satisfied him. And he could've chosen one and avoided the question and everything would've been fine and dandy, probably, and Undyne would've been instantly cured and so would he, and Alphys and Mettaton and Asgore would all come back from the dead and they could have a big party.

Hell, maybe he could have even told her the truth: _As long as I know that I make a positive difference in other people's lives, I still have a concrete reason to stick around._

But outside the realm of fantasy, what he said was:

"You're better than this, is why."

And what Undyne said in return, naturally, was:

"What the hell is **that** supposed to mean?"

" Don't act like you don't know your reputation. You never gave up, no matter how bad things looked." Sans looked off to the side, hoping it would make the smile a little easier to keep in place. He... hadn't really thought about it, but that example had helped _him,_ too, hadn't it? Maybe not as directly, or to the same extent, as with his brother or Alphys or, say, Shyren, but that undying hope, that desire to keep fighting if only because it couldn't make things _worse..._

Still, he felt the need to keep it nonspecific. Distant. _Simple._ " That strength, it, uh... it helped a lot of people. And throwing in the towel instead of like twenty spears is... unlike you. You're better than that." ( _Better than me_ , as it did with Papyrus and Toriel, went unsaid.)

It was nearly enough to get her to leap to her feet, teeth bared, spear already formed in her hand, just like the old days. But not quite — not when she could just growl at him from the comfort of the couch, occasionally jabbing a finger in his direction. "Let me tell you something, Sans. For the past _fifteen years,_ practically my entire life, I tried to be strong. In spite of myself. In spite of the days when I would barely be able to stay solid. In spite of the days when it felt like nothing could possibly go right. In spite of the weakness the king showed to me and **only** to me, because his wife was gone and his other kids were dead. I thought that if I just trained hard enough I could be what everyone needed. That I could give them hope, and protect them, and... kill for them. And then I was beaten by a **child,** a child who didn't even bother fighting back. And when they came back, unwilling to fight anymore, practically **giving** their soul to me... I didn't have it in me to take that opportunity." She took a moment to breathe, figure out what she wanted to say — but what she _wanted_ to say was nothing but fantasies, pushed away by thoughts like _not your **real** father_ and _you weren't her type anyway, stop kidding yourself._

She settled on, "It isn't **easy,** alright? Like I said, I worked for years to become the person I am. To look at myself in the mirror and say, 'yeah, look at you, you're doing great.' Look at what good **trying** did me. Look at what good **trying** did anyone else trapped in this hellhole. You oughta know that as well as anyone. And besides..." Again, she had to take a moment, this time because she was scared of the answer she might get. "Maybe I was strong, sure. For a while. But I was never the best _person,_ was I?" She waited for him to say something — to confirm it or deny it.

He had absolutely no idea how to respond, so he just shrugged. It worked as well as anything else, in his experience.

"I mean... like, sometimes I would wonder why people like Papyrus or..." Undyne couldn't bring herself to say the name. Something about it would have made her feel _more dead_ somehow, would have made it more final. "...Why people would look up to me when they had... a lot more going than I did. When they were so optimistic, or so smart and passionate, or so inspiring, and the best I could ever do was 'terrifying.' But I knew I was strong, and I knew I could protect people, and as long as I had that I felt like I was worth something. But now everything I worked for — everything I worked to protect, everyone I tried to keep hopeful, that's all gone. In the span of a day and a half."

"Not _everyone._ "

"Yeah, whatever, not _everyone_ , but it sure feels like it. Papyrus might be enough to keep **you** going —" Sans's internal monologue quickly gave way to _shit shit shit she can't know right she can't know she's not — she's not that insightful, is she — oh, god, maybe Alphys told her,_ but Undyne kept talking — "but... listen, do you know what happened when I tried to visit Napstablook a week after that day?"

He did.

But saying so would have sounded cold, so he shook his head.

"Door was locked. They **never** used to lock their door before then, Sans. And when I finally got too panicked, broke it open..." She was tearing up, but she kept her voice steady. "I didn't even know ghosts **could** fall down. But their dust was... they'd piled up everything in the corner, y'know? Their CDs, their headphones, a bunch of Mettaton stuff."

She went silent, so Sans finished for her. "And they died on top of it, because they couldn't expect anyone to scatter it for them. They couldn't let anyone know." It was a thought he'd had before, in case this was one of **those** times, in case **his** loved ones didn't make it. Of course, when it came down to it, half the things he cared about were other people, and the other half were too spread out to bother gathering and/or too big to move without a lot more energy than he had even on a good day. It was an impractical plan, and not much better as a fantasy.

But all the same, he understood.

And in that moment... he realized he'd tipped his hand, because she was looking directly at her again, with... what was that expression? It wasn't one he recognized — not pity or sympathy, not surprise or shock or horror, but — somewhere in between all of that. It left him off-kilter; he couldn't remember the last time someone looked at him like that, if anyone ever had. Instinct and memory failing him, he started thinking it out, piecing it together logically —

"You too, huh?"

 _Recognition._ Of **course** it was recognition; by now, he really should've been able to see it coming, yet here they were. Recognition meant that he was just about cornered. That, unless he played perfectly, the game was up: no more hiding behind a smile. Not from her, anyway. It had happened just the same way with Alphys, years ago (months ago? no, it had to have been years, by now), and he knew how well _that_ had turned out.

Sans weighed his options; there were a lot of little variants, but for all intents and purposes, they all fit one of two molds. The first was just continuing on like always: lie, and smile, and tell dumb jokes, and hope that eventually Undyne would crack and feel better.

The other option was to give her the same hope that he could cling to whenever everything went wrong, whenever the people he cared about most in the universe turned into a pile of ash and a faint hum in the air. The hope that it wouldn't matter, in the long run; that it'd end soon enough. And... hell, it wasn't like she had to know once things **did** change. It'd be a secret, something no other version of either one of them would ever have to know about.

He stood there, for a while, stock-still, genuinely considering it. _They'll come back. They almost always do. And eventually, all things considered, we'll... probably get out on the surface, and stay there for the rest of our lives._ It wouldn't exactly be the truth; he'd be sugar-coating it, giving her the chance of redemption without the chance of everybody in the entire world, maybe the entire universe, blinking out of existence in an instant. But, honestly, if he could believe that — if he could truly believe that, no matter what, it would all turn out alright in the end — he would, without a second thought.

...And when it came down to it, he couldn't actually think of a reason not to.

"...Yeah. Me too." He looked her dead in the eye, smile as wide as it had ever been. One more joke before he got into the heavy stuff. " This one might take a while, so I hope you weren't planning on going anywhere..."

* * *

"...So somewhere out there, there's another me, out there with Alphys and — Asgore, and everyone else?"

"Sure enough. And, y'know, in all likelihood, that'll be where **this** you — this **us,** all of us — are, too. It'll take some time, but hey." Sans winked. " Neither of us'll even notice."

"Okay, sure." Undyne dragged an arm across her face, trying to rid it of mucus and not doing the best job. She'd already gotten most of the crying over with (she said they were happy tears, or at least hopeful tears, longing tears, and that in itself felt like a good sign as far as Sans was concerned), but she was still having trouble getting herself together. "But... what do I do until this all ends? Until they get another shot to do it all perfectly?"

The million-dollar question. "Well, if you're anything like me, you completely phone it in because of the sense that it's all gonna fall apart sooner or later, and nobody's gonna remember the good or the bad you did, so why bother?" The look on her face made it clear pretty much instantly that he was maybe being just a **tiny** bit too glib, so he closed his eyes and did a little head-only-half-bow thing. " Sorry. I mean, the thing is... it's not... I mean, it's bad. It's real bad. But there's still good moments, fun moments, beautiful moments, y'know?" He put a hand on Undyne's shoulder and squeezed, almost trying to convince herself that she was really there, but mostly just trying to remind her that **he** was. (Some of her came off on his hand; he hastily wiped the residue on his sleeve.) " There's still times when I'm smiling for real. And I know you have it in you to find those times, too. Even if it'll be much harder without her."

Undyne smiled, and it only seemed a little bit forced. "Fine. I'll... do my best. But you have to promise me you'll do the same."

"Don't worry about me. I can —"

She poked him right in the nasal cavity, careful to make sure she didn't do so too forcefully (she'd learned from experience that it was difficult for people to take her seriously if she was frantically trying to yank her finger out of their face). "Don't gimme any of that mandi- **bull** , shorty. If it's not good for me, it's not good for you, either, alright?"

"Uh —"

"You said it yourself. There's nothing we can do but keep going, and hope that eventually we forget all this. Get luckier the next time around. And if you're just gonna do your best to make everyone else's life worth living, then I'm gonna do the exact same thing, including you. And maybe we'll both find something else to keep us going in the meantime, huh? Something that'll make this timeline almost tolerable."

There was a long, fairly uncomfortable silence — but then Sans nodded, and his smile, too, seemed to be a lot more genuine from where Undyne was sitting. "Yeah, alright. It might be worth a shot."

Undyne lifted herself off the couch and did some quick stretches — nothing like she'd been able to do before everything went bad, of course, because she was way out of practice and her body was still being just a bit too fluid for the whole process to work — but still, she was doing _something._ "I'm gonna go down to Hotland and grab some food. You in?"

" I literally just ate."

"When's that ever stopped you before?"

"Jeez, you really don't miss a beat with the _biting_ commentary, huh?" But all the same, he adjusted his jacket and made sure his pockets were good and full of change. He was halfway out the door when he collided with Undyne's arm.

"No shortcuts this time. Walk like a normal monster, alright? I'll even carry you if that's too much, just... try and actually look where you're going for once."

A pause, then another nod. "Alright. I think I can do that."


End file.
